


FOOLS

by frankier_hoe



Series: The Blue Neighborhood Series [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankier_hoe/pseuds/frankier_hoe
Summary: Frank Iero and Gerard Way in Troye Sivan's Blue Neighborhood trilogy. FOOLS part 2/3 in the Blue Neighborhood series.





	FOOLS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diewithoutbite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diewithoutbite/gifts).



FOOLS

"Only fools fall for you"

Frank flipped open his phone for the sixth time that afternoon, not caring about the how it burned in his hands from the warmth of the sun. He had been fixing the boat engine for four hours, and had texted Gerard six hours before that.

Wishing he could speak to Gerard instead of text him, he carefully texted him another ‘G, text me when u can, im really worried xoxo frnk’, then sliding the phone back into his pocket and stealing a glance at his kitchen. He could just see his father’s muscular back through the screen doors, bent over, looking like he was screaming at the dishwasher again. It would be funny if he was kidding, but the dishwasher and Frank’s dad really had some issues they had to work out. 

Frank laughed a little at himself as he took out a grease rag and cleaned the engine again, surveying it. He wasn’t allowed to leave until it was fixed; he supposed it was lucky his father had shown him a bit about engines when his mom was still around. Regardless, the mind of his twelve year old self cared more about cartoons than wrenches. 

He wiped off another bead of sweat, the ninety degree heat overwhelming him like a wet blanket. He turned on the radio, hastily looking at the kitchen and-thank god-not noticing any change from his father. He lost himself in the hits of his dad’s generation.

Shrugging a little, he adjusted his torso so that his ribs’ ache would subside. He had learned that staying overnight anywhere anymore was out of the question. The codependency of his father terrified him, it was so similar to his with Gerard’s. Granted, Gerard touched him like he was made of glass, but the way he felt so dependent, so blissfully involved with Gerard, scared him. Gerard could always leave-

He pulled his phone out again, staring at the texts he had sent. No reply. He lost himself in the buzz of the radio and one inch screen in front of him; he hardly noticed his father cross the lawn.

“Hey, dad, I actually need a little help with this engine, I’ve almost got it I just need-” Frank managed, slipping the phone into his pocket until his father interrupted him. 

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” His father’s words were slurred with drink, he was sweating with it. Frank could feel it coming off of him.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to text Jamia about history class,” Frank said, taking a step back and raising his hands in defense.

“You can’t even spend one minute without her?” His father held out his hand for the phone, “it’s mine. You can’t have it, you’re too distracted.” Frank went blank, if his dad went through his texts, he’d actually be fucking dead.

“I’m sorry, I need it for homework dad, look the engine is almost done-” Frank tried, his father’s posture relaxed at that, and Frank almost shit himself with relief.

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t wanna see your dick pics anyway, I won’t go through it, son. I just need it okay, until the engine is done, but at least you’re not a faggot,” His father laughed at his own joke, his hand still out, expectant.

Frank swallowed at the comment and closed his eyes, shaking his head. He knew his father would go through it regardless.

“I’m sorry dad, I’ll be good, I promise-”

“I don’t give a shit about your promises, Frank, now give me the fucking phone,” His father’s words hit him and then the ground. It took him a minute to register his father’s fist against his face. He heard a sickening crack, and both of them looked afraid. Frank’s father lowered his fist, a look of shame crossed his hard features.

“Keep your fucking phone, see if I care,” His father stood up and sauntered back to the house, pausing at the screen door before going in and giving up.

Frank sat up, his fingers tapping the tender skin on his face, feeling for anything broken. When he couldn’t find anything, he shook his head a little, wondering if two person auditory hallucinations were a thing and why he was so grateful for them. He stood up and in hearing pieces fall from his pocket, his stomach sunk. It wasn’t his bones but his phone that his father had broken.

He pulled the pieces out of his pocket, careful not to cut himself, and kicked them into the corner of the filthy shed.

Biting his lip, he went back to the engine, and heard out the rest of the bad 80s rock song that was on and then he was finished.  
…

His feet hit the sidewalk hard, running unfamiliar to his muscles. He could feel the lactic acid seeping into his bones as he sprinted, counting down the number of blocks.

His fists were clenched tight, he was angry. Anger directed at his dad for making his ribs burn as he ran. Anger at Gerard for not replying. Anger at himself for not being important enough to contact. Angry at him for not being able to fix anything.

He might as well have no hands, he already didn’t have a brain, what type of person falls for someone who lives overseas? What kind of idiot crosses the ocean to find someone who didn’t meet him halfway? What kind of fool crosses an ocean for aching ribs?

He shook his head and focused on sprinting, the water droplets falling from his hair matched the rain that was beating down on him. The water was enough to make him smell of earth and not gasoline, but not enough to clear the grease stains on his hands or the thoughts in his aching head.

He turned and sprinted unceasingly up Gerard’s driveway, running to burn it all out of him, he wanted everything to turn ashy grey, unmemorable. He didn’t care that Gerard had ignored him, he needed the comfort of Gerard’s paintings and white walls, he needed his comforter wrapped around his dripping frame, he needed Gerard.

He knocked on the door, spitting out the rain that was falling in his mouth. He couldn’t hear any footsteps over the rain, which was falling so hard that it hurt, every drop stung against his skin, and he couldn’t see. He waited for thirty more seconds, content to wait and let the rain wash everything off of him-he could already feel his anger thawing-but when he heard the hurricane warning piercing over the sound of the rain, he dug under the welcome mat and slipped the key into the lock, quickly submerging himself in the dry, warm household of the Way’s.

“Gerard, look, I understand that you don’t want to see me or whatever, but I had to check and see if you were still alive, plus there’s a fucking hurricane warning outside so!” Frank slipped off his shoes and made his way around the corner to Gerard’s room, leaving a trail of water. It’s not like Gramma Way would care, she loved Frank like he was her own. He glanced around for her briefly, more focused on finding Gerard.

“Gerard?” Frank called, “Hello?” He padded his way to Gerard’s room, the silence was deafening; the walls were too white. He swallowed and pushed open Gerard’s door slowly, ducking his head in first.

“Gerard?” He called softly, he could see his figure sitting on the bed, looking out at the window; he didn’t even look like he was breathing. Frank sat down at the edge of Gerard’s bed, warnings about waking a sleepwalker and summoning spirits echoed through his brain without any reason.

He put a tentative hand on Gerard’s thigh, he didn’t want to lashed out at anymore. Gerard didn’t move, he didn’t blink. Frank looked up at Gerard’s face. His mouth was open, shocked, a tear fell from his unblinking eyes, following a path that the others had made before it. Frank could see damp spots on Gerard’s shirt where tears had pooled together. 

“G, what happened?” Frank asked quietly, rubbing Gerard’s thigh a little, scared at the ghost that sat in front of him. The only move Gerard made was a hard swallow, another tear fell from his face.

“Gerard,” Frank tried again, he shook Gerard’s torso. Gerard didn’t even blink, his eyes were red, Frank had never seen anything like it, he looked like a corpse.

“Please,” Frank said, his voice catching in his throat as he shook Gerard’s torso again, earning a single blink from him; he shook Gerard again, “Gerard you’re terrifying me,” he said, pulling Gerard’s limp form into his arms. He pulled the two of them so that they rested against the wall with Gerard between his legs; he wasn’t strong enough to hold them both up. 

“Baby please you gotta talk to me, or I’m gonna have to call the hospital,” Frank rocked Gerard back and forth, tears falling into Gerard’s greasy mop of unwashed hair. Gerard blinked, still staring out the window. 

“Frank,” Gerard tried to say, his voice coming out a whisper; he swallowed, “Frank,” it came through clearer that time, “Frank you can’t take me away from here, it’s all she left behind it all smells like her, her stuff is here,” He gasped, swallowing again, “I can’t breath.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Frank asked, his voice cracking with realization as Gerard kept gasping for air, his eyes not leaving the window, “Where is your grandma?” 

“I can’t breathe, Frank!” Frank pulled Gerard closer in response, rocking them back and forth, his bruised back rubbing against the pale wall.  
…

Frank crossed his arms, studying Gerard as he stared at the weather report playing on TV, unmoving from his spot in the basement. It was like watching a bad movie.

Frank took a long drink from his glass of water, and then placed the half empty glass into Gerard’s hand.

“Drink,” He said, Gerard had confessed in the middle of his panic attack, the death of his Grandma which had happened about a day ago. He wasn’t sure. From that point until now he hadn’t drank, slept, eaten… Once the authorities left with the body, he didn’t see any reason to do anything. Frank found Gerard’s phone smashed on the other side of his room, and his paintings in the trash downstairs.

“I’m not thirsty,” He replied, his hoarse voice begging to differ. Frank cupped his hands around Gerard’s and brought the drink to his mouth. Gerard just looked at him, the water resting at his lips, some dripping down his chin.

“Gerard,” something about the way Frank said his name, clicked something in Gerard’s brain and he swallowed the remainder of the water. It broke Frank a little when he visibly saw color return to Gerard’s face. 

“I’m going to go get some food and water, guy says this storm won’t be over for a few hours,” Frank said, he frowned and tucked a stray hair behind Gerard’s ear. Gerard nodded a little at him, his eyes welling up despite himself. Frank touched Gerard’s hand before bounding up the stairs from the basement and gathering supplies from the kitchen.

He turned to look at the stove, checking the time and he wish he hadn’t. He could just see a tray of old cookies forgotten in the stove. He blinked a few times and swallowed, trying hard not to drop the water bottles he held in his arms. Shaking his head, he grabbed a box of granola bars off of the counter and went back downstairs.

Gerard tore his gaze away from the TV and watched Frank come downstairs.

“Hey, I was thinking, maybe when this storm is over we can make some tea and call your parents-” Gerard cut him off without even trying when Frank met his gaze.

“Gerard,” Frank sighed half setting, half dropping the supplies on the ground and walking over to Gerard.

“When you were upstairs, I was pretending that the footsteps-that the footstep were-” Gerard choked, Frank bit his lip and helped Gerard onto the sofa, curling an arm around him.

“Let’s just watch some TV okay? Take your mind off of it?” Frank suggested, watching as Gerard lowered his head onto his lap. Gerard didn’t respond and Frank pretended that everything was as simple as a hurricane outside and cuddling in the basement. He really tried. 

He sighed at Gerard’s form on his lap, fondly running a hand carefully through the tangled hair. He slipped his hand into Gerard’s pocket and pulled out his phone, calling the contact labeled MOM :).  
…

Gerard didn’t come around to the boat yard anymore. Frank was always making the trip for him. He could feel the string that they had sewed them together stretching and coming undone. It might have hurt less if they hadn’t been so hopelessly codependent, but then again, he was never sure.

Grandma Way’s funeral was scheduled 13 days after her death, and when day 9 on the countdown fell on them like a load of bricks, Frank stopped going around to see Gerard.

He knew that Gerard was struggling, he knew he needed the support, but it was like talking to a blank wall and getting a hand written, illiterate messages as response on it every other day. He knew he had an obligation, but when he woke up that Monday, all he felt he had to do was run to the store for groceries.

He slipped on his shoes, not bothering with the laces, hearing the flop of his sneakers against the pavement. It wasn’t like he had left Gerard alone, Gerard’s parents were there, helping with everything and picking out flowers. 

Him being there wouldn’t even help, Gerard didn’t let him touch him, or speak to him since the hurricane. He just sat there, playing music sometimes. If he was lucky, Gerard might look at him and not the fucking window. If he was really fortunate, Gerard might hold his hand, his fingers colder than ice.

Grief takes people in different ways, Gerard was essentially a fucking corpse and Frank was angry. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Gerard wasn’t the only one who was hurting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done anything, he was just sick of talking to a wall who wasn’t sick of listening.

He rubbed his face tiredly, this whole three hours of sleep thing was getting old. While others were just stirring awake he was trying to trick himself into falling asleep again. It didn’t work. His best sleep medication had checked out.

He walked into the gas station, grabbing a carton of milk and a bag of bread. That should hold them through the week. It’s hard to shop when you don’t want to eat. 

Frank was the only person there at four in the morning, surprisingly, but he couldn’t even find it in his heart to be sorry for the dead eyed looking 30 year old working the cashier. It reminded him too much of Gerard. As he walked out of the Speedway, he bumped into an even deader looking girl.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Frank said, he hadn’t even seen the chick and had whacked their heads together. He rubbed his forehead and an annoying voice inside his head said something about physical pain vs emotional pain.

“It’s okay, damn you look even worse than I do!” The girl laughed, Frank could’ve pissed himself, the only laughter he had heard lately was the laugh track from How I Met Your Mother, when you only sleep for three hours, you have to do something.

“Yeah, summer reading and all that,” Frank lied easily, helping the girl up. 

“No shit, Frank? Oh my god I haven’t seen you in like a month!” The chick said pushing Frank’s shoulder in a friendly manner. Fuck, oh fuck, the realization hit him, it was fucking Jamia. His only other friend besides Gerard and he’d totally not told her about his broken phone or seen her at all.

“Fucking hell, Jamia!” Frank replied, stunned. He kinda had forgotten that a world outside of it all existed, the sadness felt so massive and overwhelming. Jamia threw her arms around Frank, she’d always been a hugger regardless of Frank’s protests.

“Hey,” Frank managed, patting her back a little awkwardly.

“My god, where have you been Iero?” Jamia said with a laugh. Frank shook his head, a smile present on his features.

“Believe me, you don’t wanna know.”  
…

There wasn’t anyway to measure time anymore, but it didn’t make much of a difference to him. The same feeling was always there, a faceless expression that he just couldn’t place. Nothing had changed for him really, except that maybe he was getting worse. Frank didn’t come around anymore. Gerard lost track of time staring at the ceiling, finding different patterns in the popcorn ceiling. All he was living for at this point was his mom knocking on his door before he went to bed. He thinks it’s just because she wants to make sure he hasn’t offed himself yet.

Her knock comes with a glass of water and some cereal and a talk about grief. He’s tuned most of it out in recent “talks” because it’s just his mom talking to herself and trying to convince everyone that everything is fine. This time it’s different. It’s day twelve. His mom is hugging him.

Frank didn’t decide to come over and see him off and Gerard wonders if he will show for the funeral. He doesn’t think that it would matter in the end. His mom had his suit dry cleaned and Gerard doesn’t sleep that night, all he can think about is when he and Frank were 12 years old and jumped off the pier. The memory won’t stop playing and Gerard wish it would.


End file.
